Peeta's point of view (bread scene)
by SW01
Summary: My interpretation of what was going through Peeta's mind during the scene mentioned. Please leave feedback, excuse any spelling mistakes and enjoy.


_Peeta_

The ovens sparked with hot coal and wood as Sam used the bellow to get the fire started again. Hot air rose and the smell of newly baked bread intensified as his brother's arms worked. Peeta continued to knead his twenty-fourth dough of the day, his white shirt dusty with flour that only became visible as he moved his strong arms. It was like every other Sunday afternoon; father and Malk was off to the market, mother was kneading in front of him. She was not in a good mood today Peeta noticed. Her hands worked frantically as her mouth frowned hard, her tired faded eyes stung with a very harsh look. She was like that sometimes. _Better not mess something up_ , Peeta thought as he continued.

The weather outside was sour as well. Raindrops hit the mud outside the bakery like rockets, the tree outside waving its arms in the wind. Somewhere in the distance a lonely figure could be witnessed moving across a neighboring yard, probably mr Hermons going outside to take a leak.

For those with a house in district 12, rain only meant a even bitter atmosphere. For those without, well…

Freezing wasn't the most common cause of death in the district, Peeta knew. Summers were hot, winters were mild, and the public wells supplied everyone with free water. It was the disease, that sometimes spread through those wells that was the big killer. That and starvation.

Peeta looked over at the five plates stacked with baked bread. Sometimes he forgot how fortunate he really was to have all of this. Food was most definitely never a problem. Most often he found joy in the labour that was involved in baking too. No, being a baker's son wasn't too bad.

His mind wandered. Two braids brown as chocolate. White skirt with her hands placed together at her stomach. Grey eyes blinking and birds quieting as her pretty voice started.

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow._

 _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_.

Peeta felt his stomach tingle and the corners of his mouth twitching as he kneaded. Then he suddenly stopped and looked at his brother and mother. Had they noticed? For some reason he didn't want them to know. As dark and bitter twelve could be, the times he actually saw her was like the sun peaked through the clouds of coal-dust and rain. And he wanted to keep that feeling for himself. That tingling and unexplainable happiness that, no matter how tired he was, lifted his mood and took him through the day. His _personal_ source of happiness.

The boys often talked about her. Most often about her body, making comments that made Peeta want to beat them bloody with a kneading stick. _Never_ had he heard them make a comment about the beauty of her voice, how she bit her lip whenever she was focusing on something. He loved that. During lunch breaks he would try to make his friends sit by a table so that he could see her. But he wasn't too sure on how to approach her, but maybe making eye-contact would be a good start? Most often she wouldn't look his way. Not that she was busy; she liked to be alone, and didn't have many friends besides the mayor's daughter that she occasionally hanged with.

But there was this one time when he was staring over his friends shoulder as usual, looking at the chocolate haired girl chatting quietly with Madge about whatever. Suddenly her grey eyes darted to meet his in the middle of a smile, and for a fraction of a second it felt like a thousand fireballs were being shot into his chest. He spilled his water all over the table, everybody clapped. The attention and the embarrassment of having to clean everything up with his shirt was nothing he cared about. But had she noticed? He hoped not.

The bread was now ready to be baked along with three other doughs, and he prepared a plate. _Katniss_ , was her name. _Katniss_. Just thinking the name made it tingle in his belly. _Katniss_. _Katniss._ Peeta couldn't think of a more beautiful name, or sound for that matter. It had taken a few weeks for him to learn it. But it was at the day that she received compensations and goods for her father who had died during some kind of a accident in the mines that he heard it the first time. The whole thing saddened him, yes, but he couldn't resist the tingling feeling when they presented her name. _Katniss._ She hadn't been to school recently though. Was she sick? He prayed not. The plate was now set and he moved towards the oven and placed the plate inside.

On most nights recently, he would lie awake just thinking about her. How it would be like to stroke and smell her hair. How he would want to know about her day, what was on her mind. To feel her head leaning against his big shoulder.

Sometimes he would even think about how it would be like to kiss her soft lips. What it would feel like, taste like. But that was just _sometimes_. The thought was silly, but even more rarely he would listen to how their names would sound together. _Katniss and Peeta. Peeta and Katniss_. He would sometimes even whisper it to himself, only to stop because he thought that it was to childish. He…

He had dropped the bread in the fire. White smoke was rising from the loaves as it _hissed_. Mother was there quickly as mouse to pick up the smoking hot loaves with her bare hardened hands. Peeta knew what was coming. Sam looked at his brother and shook his head. _You damn fool Peeta_ he thought as his mother yelled him to go outside.

The doorbell ringed as she violently opened the door with her free hand, pushed and followed him. Rain hit the ground with a sound that dulled the tone in his mothers sharp voice, but it didn't matter. She shoved the burnt loaves in his arms. _"Feed it to the pigs you fucking idiot"_ she shouted after she slapped her son. Then she slammed the door after waling back in.

Peeta felt blood rushing to the left side of his face as he started to tear the bread apart. It wasn't the first time he had been beaten, but nevertheless; he didn't like it. Judging by the numbness on his cheek, the worst part would be walking to school tomorrow with a ugly bruise across his face. At first he worried if Katniss would see him when he was this ugly, but then he remembered. She wasn't there. Where could she be?

And then she saw her. Or was it really her? Leaning against a tree, pale, her hair soaked in mud and water. What looked like rags or clothes on the ground around her. And then that feeling of a thousand fires flashed in his chest again as her empty grey eyes met his blue. But this time he didn't look away. He was afraid that he would drop the bread, but he held it steady. _What have happened to you?_ he thought, but Peeta knew right away. She was starving. He had seen that look in the dying old men in the streets. Katniss was starving because her father couldn't provide for her.

For a second Peeta didn't know what to do. He wanted to help her, but… he checked if his mother was eyeballing him from inside. _What am I doing?_ The last loaf of burnt bread bounced towards her without him even thinking. She lifted her head, and looked at the bread confused. _Is she disappointed? Was one loaf enough?_

In a contained form of panic, Peeta turned towards the door and left her outside.


End file.
